<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>Evil Author Day 2021 by startabby</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29445435">Evil Author Day 2021</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/startabby/pseuds/startabby'>startabby</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Evil Author Day Snippets [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Teen Wolf (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Evil Author Day, Gen, M/M, Teasers &amp; Trailers</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-15 18:02:32</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,208</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29445435</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/startabby/pseuds/startabby</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>I don't have much to offer this year (Thanks for that 2020...), but I thought I'd throw a bit out there from the July 2020 Rough Trade challenge.<br/></p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Original Percival Graves/Newt Scamander</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Evil Author Day Snippets [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2162835</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>23</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Magic's Paladin Part 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Starting this year, I'm going to break my EAD offerings into separate stories by year.<br/>As always, Evil Author Day stories are snippets, with no guarantee that they will ever get completed.</p>
    </blockquote><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>This first one is Part 1 of the sequel to 'Darkness of the Scavenger', wherein Newt introduces his friends and partner to his London townhouse.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Tendrils of gray billowed around the man, following his movements as he strode down the cobblestone street. In the hazy atmosphere, the shrouded brick of his surroundings felt timeless. Without any other markers, it could be located in any number of places and times.</p><p>The man’s clothing did not offer much help in terms of identifying the date or location. A long pea coat made of boiled wool dyed a bright peacock blue and carrying signs of extensive wear covered him from knee to chin, its front closures sealed closed against the clammy chill of the fog.</p><p>Russet hair poked up above the coat’s upturned collar, along with a pale face coated with a liberal helping of freckles.  It was a pleasant face, one whose laugh-lines and sparkling blue eyes were evidence of a happy nature. A scar cut through one eyebrow, leaving a small line of white in the midst of the red. When put in combination with the man’s sure-footed walk, it said that despite his pleasant demeanor the man was no push-over.</p><p>In his left hand, the man bore a large leather-bound suitcase, a style made common beginning in the late nineteenth century.  Like the man’s coat, his case’s surface was battered and worn, the legacy of extensive travel.  Though the case looked far from light, the man held it in a sure grip. It was a sign that, despite its bedraggled appearance, the case was a prized possession.</p><p>As the man’s brisk walk slowed to a stop, another figure emerged from out of the fog behind him. Like the other, this man also carried himself with the sure-footedness of an experienced fighter. But it was there that the resemblance ended.</p><p>Unlike the first’s ambiguous dress, this man wore a sharp black suit in a modern cut that easily placed him in time. Though he did wear a fine silver scarf and heavy coat, a nod to the environs, his coat was left open. He bore a well-polished cane in one hand, though he did not appear to need it at present. The salt and pepper in his short black locks made him appear older than his carriage otherwise indicated. His face carried a severe look; as if he hardly knew the meaning of the word ‘smile’.</p><p>Despite his initially grim appearance, the man’s countenance softened as he strode up to the other’s side.</p><p>“So. This is your home, then?” he said more than asked. The fog had cleared enough to bring the closest building in view. It was a large brownstone, one of a long row of nearly identical such buildings going by what little could be seen in the misty morning. Directly in front of them was a wrought iron gate, which blocked access to the building from the street.</p><p>“It is.”</p><p>“Doesn’t look like much.” The rude words stood in direct contrast to the teasing tone in the second man’s voice. “Just like its owner, is it?”</p><p>The first man laughed; the bright sound startling in the shrouded atmosphere. “Quite,” he replied.</p><p>“Sounds like someone’s in a good mood,” a female voice called.</p><p>From out of the mist, a second couple appeared. Like the first pair, these two were also a study in contrasts.</p><p>Everything about the woman, from her platinum blonde curls, fashionable pastel silks, and patent leather heels, fit the epitome of modern femininity. She looked like she had stepped right out of the pages of a catalog, or perhaps an advertisement for some luxury brand.</p><p>In contrast, the man whose arm she held was entirely ordinary. His brown suit, if serviceable, fit awkwardly on his rotund frame and his mustache did nothing to hide his double chin.</p><p>But the glances that the couple shared were anything but casual. Instead, they shone with love and devotion.</p><p>“Have we arrived, then?” The woman asked with a musical lilt.</p><p>“We have indeed,” the first man said.</p><p>Reaching into his now unbuttoned coat, he pulled a long wooden wand out of one of the inside pockets. Touching it to the lock that held the gate closed, he leaned forward just enough to whisper something too quietly for anyone else to make out.</p><p>With a snick, the latch clicked open.</p><p>The gates swung open without a single creak as the now-identified wizard led the way up the steps of the stoop, through the front door, and into the house.</p><p>On the other side of the door stood a narrow hallway, just wide enough for two people to stand abreast. The walls were split by a chair rail, with heavy floral wallpaper above and cherry wood paneling below it. Covering the floor was a thick Persian rug that matched the wallpaper, while sconces of burnished brass held globes of frosted glass lit up with unseen lights.</p><p>The only furniture in the space was a coat hanger which stood empty and ready to receive outerwear.</p><p>“Not quite what I was expecting, given my experience with you,” the older man said as all four took off their coats and hung them up. “This is far more mundane than I had anticipated.”</p><p>In response, the other flashed an enigmatic smile.</p><p>From her place beside him, the sole female of the group let out a high-pitched giggle.</p><p>“Don’t tell him,” the home’s owner chided her. “You’ll ruin it.”</p><p>“Of course, honey,” she replied, patting his arm. “I would never…”</p><p>But before she could say anything more, an angry chittering could be heard from the coat rack.</p><p>“Pickett!” Newt said apologetically. That was who the first man and thus the brownstone’s owner was. He was Newton Artemis Scamander, the infamous Magizoologist extraordinaire. Along with his companions: MACUSA’s Director of Magical Security Percival Graves, skilled Legilimens and Percival’s personal assistant Queenie Goldstein, and her Muggle beau (and Newt’s friend) Jacob Kowalski, he was returning to his home in London, England for the first time since the New York City disaster.</p><p>Reaching out a hand, he collected the noise-maker, a territorial bowtruckle who had been hiding in his coat pocket from his perch atop the knob at the center of the wooden furniture piece.</p><p>As Pickett clambered up onto Newt’s shoulder to continue his impassioned – if untranslatable – diatribe, his ‘tree’ walked over to the door that stood opposite the entrance.</p><p>Leaning forward, he placed a hand on the door’s knob and began to fiddle with it.</p><p>“I always have to remind myself of the trick after I’ve been traveling,” he said absently, his attention focused. “Oh, right. Flip the latch to the left; rotate the knob 90 degrees left, then 180 degrees right, then back 180 degrees left again. Then, push…” Newt’s actions followed his words, and as the others watched, he worked the mechanism.</p><p>When the door swung open, the others couldn’t hold in their gasps. Even Queenie, who had read Newt’s earlier thoughts, marveled at the view before them.</p><p>Instead of another room, the door opened onto a massive multi-storied vault that looked something like the basement of an old Roman stadium. Off to one side, open stone steps led both up and down, establishing the floor on which they stood as one of many. Directly in front of the door stood a well-equipped workspace, filled with notebooks, baskets, and basins filled with creature byproducts and entire lots full of animal feed. Opposite the steps stood a full potions set-up, which came complete with a wall of unique ingredients carefully labeled in Newt’s precise handwriting. And, beyond all of that, skylights allowed natural light to beam into a large open area filled with water.</p><p>“Wow!” Jacob said with excitement.</p><p>“Only you, Newt,” Percival added, shaking his head with a bit of amused exasperation evident in his voice and posture. Stepping forward, he allowed his senses to glut on the sheer abundance of unusual moments that filled the space. Keeping a fraction of his attention locked on Newt – his heartbeat, natural musk, ginger locks – prevented any form of zone from occurring.</p><p>It was a wonderful consequence of their newly-formed Bond. With Newt at his side, Percival was able to explore the positive side of his Magic-granted gifts. As his ears explored the echoes of sound which served to define the extended space, from somewhere behind him, he heard a muted <em>thunk</em>.</p><p>A moment later, a silvery blur sped past him, followed closely by a rattling growl.</p><p>“Dougal!”</p><p>“Rosie!”</p><p>Newt and Queenie’s voices overlapped as they shouted their familiars’ names.</p><p>The Nundu and the Demiguise tussled for a moment, right at the water’s edge, before they split up with the ease of long experience. Bending down, Rosie took the chance to lap up a quick drink from the massive pool, batting it a bit with one massive paw. Dougal, on the other hand, headed for the stairs leading up to the next level. It was clear that he knew his way around the extensive space beyond.</p><p>A screech sounded next, along with the click of sharp talons on the stones. A leathery head bumped against Percival’s side, and he glanced down with a smile.</p><p>“Not interested in the chaos, eh, Pelles?” he asked rhetorically.</p><p><em>Amusement/exasperation </em>pulsed through their bond, along with the impression of “<em>children”.</em></p><p>“You think you’re too mature for all that, huh old girl?”</p><p>The others joined Percival, Newt stepping up to the side opposite Pelles. Jacob and Queenie were on the other side, with a struggling Niffler tucked under one of the man’s arm.</p><p>“Caught this little bugger before he could follow the others,” he said. He had become much more adept at handling all of Newt’s creatures during their voyage across the Atlantic. “He’s an Artful Dodger, this one.”</p><p>“Probably for the best,” Newt said with a laugh. “I don’t know if Hera has managed to lock up all of the good silverware yet.”</p><p>There was a quiet pop, and a short being with long, pointed ears appeared before them. She was dressed in a neat dress that had clearly been sewn from a used pillowcase but managed to look perfectly pressed regardless. Over the top of that, she wore an apron, the hem of which she was currently using to wipe off her hands.</p><p>“Master Newton has returned,” she said in her high-pitched voice. “And Hera is assuming that he has brought all sorts of new and troublesome beasties with him.”</p><p>Percival was surprised to see Newt blush.</p><p>“Just a few,” he said sheepishly.</p><p>“Hmph,” Hera replied. “That was being what Master Newton said the last time... and the time before that.”</p><p>“She certainly has you pegged there, eh Scamander,” Jacob said.</p><p>“I suppose. Hera, these are my guests, Miss Queenie Goldstein, Mister Jacob Kowalski, and Mister Percival Graves. They will be staying here with us for a bit. I trust that you and the household will be able to take care of them.”</p><p>“Of course, Master Newton.”</p><p>“Jacob, I don’t remember if you’ve had any encounters with house elves before?”</p><p>When Jacob shook his head, Newt went on.</p><p>“They are a race of magical beings who live in symbiosis with Wizards and Witches, the origin of the fairy tales about brownies. You can think of Hera here as the housekeeper if that makes things easier.”</p><p>He paused and then added. “Hera, Mister Kowalski is a Muggle, but one who has special permission to know about Magic. He is to be treated with the same courtesies as any other guest.”</p><p>Hera looked a bit hesitant.</p><p>“Don’t worry too much, Mister Kowalski has already spent quite a bit of time down in the case. Think of him as a Squib, if you’d like.”</p><p>“If you say so, Master Newton,” she said. “Hera best be getting things ready then.”</p><p>Without another word, she disappeared with another crack.</p><p>Newt winced. “I’m going to hear about that later,” he said absently. “Now then, what say I give you all a tour of the rest of the house?”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Mischief's Match Part 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>This is the first part of my second Rough Trade story - set in the Teen Wolf universe, except with Sentinel/Guide dynamics.<br/>For this one, I was playing with the idea of "Guardian" matches for juvenile Sentinels and Guides.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>THUD!</em>
</p>
<p>The door to Peter Hale’s hospital room slammed against the wall as it swung abruptly open.</p>
<p>A pair of sneakers’ rubber soles squeaked as their owner dashed across the room’s linoleum floor, darting past the singular bed that dominated the space and then ducking into the opposite corner where a curtain lay tugged against a wall. From that spot, Peter knew, a person would be hidden from view, especially if they stayed low to the ground.</p>
<p>His visitor, Peter knew, had to be short. Either that or they had to have run past with their head ducked low.  Given his range of vision in his current position, Peter would have seen them otherwise.</p>
<p><em>A child, perhaps, </em>Peter thought, pleased by the idea.</p>
<p>The scents that were carried on the air as the visitor had rushed past furthered that impression when they reached his sensitive nose. Hints of earth and refined sugar – candy or some other similar treat – along with a wonderful breath of outside air redolent with pine; the smell of Beacon Hills.</p>
<p><em>A visitor, then, rather than one of the other residents, </em>Peter guessed.</p>
<p>“Get back here, you mischievous little brat,” he heard a nurse call out as she walked down the hallway outside. Despite her words, her tone held a friendlier mix of humor and exasperation. “You know that you’re not allowed back here on your own.”</p>
<p>Peter missed the rest of the nurse’s words. The snick as the door which had been slammed open returned to its original state overrode the more distant speech.</p>
<p>“Oh man, oh man, Mama McCall sounds pissed,” came a quiet voice. Peter’s impromptu guest spoke for the first time since his arrival.</p>
<p>“I’m going to end up banned from Scotty’s, or worse… Grounded.”</p>
<p><em>Definitely a child, then, </em>Peter thought. He wished that he could laugh aloud, or even just spread his lips in a smile. From the timbre of the voice, it was a pre-pubescent child that had come to call on him.</p>
<p>There was a gasp at his side.</p>
<p>“Sorry, mister, I didn’t realize you were in here,” the boy said. “I figured that they had taken you off for some kind of testing or something. Were you sleeping?”</p>
<p>Peter wished that he could respond, but in his current state, all that he could do was listen.</p>
<p>A small finger poked into his side.</p>
<p>“Mister?” the boy asked again. “Wait, are you a Sentinel? Are you… Zoned?” His voice grew excited. “Hang on, we just learned about this in my Guide class.”</p>
<p>The finger that had poked at him became a full hand, and a face swung into view in front of Peter’s eyes. As he had thought, it was indeed a boy child, maybe ten or eleven in age. His dark brown hair and amber eyes stood out against his pale skin, while a cheerful smile stretched across his face.</p>
<p>“Whoa, those look nasty,” said, clearly eyeing the burns that stretched across the left side of Peter’s face and left arm, the only ones presently visible.</p>
<p><em>It is fortunate that he chose my comparatively healthy right arm to hold,</em> Peter thought, a tad hysterically.</p>
<p> “Is that why you’re Zoned? Or maybe you got triggered by a smell or a sound, or… maybe something else is going on?”</p>
<p>The boy’s words were scattershot, rapidly fired out. Even if he had been able to move and speak, Peter wouldn’t have been able to get in a word in edgewise. But eventually, the torrent of questions petered off, until the boy was looking at him expectantly.</p>
<p>If he could have, Peter would have sighed. <em>Someone has forgotten why he started asking questions, </em>he thought.</p>
<p>But then the boy’s face lit up.</p>
<p>“Oh, right!” he said. “Zoned… Okay, I’m going to try…”</p>
<p>He screwed up his face in concentration for a moment.</p>
<p>To Peter’s surprise, a few seconds later he felt something nudge against his locked-down mind. A mental presence that carried the same innocent joy as was present in the boy’s voice.</p>
<p><em>Impressive, </em>Peter thought. <em>The child is quite adept to be able to make contact so quickly.</em></p>
<p>Reaching out with his own, well-trained mind, Peter was able to nudge back. As he did so, he did his best to prevent the full extent of his trauma from being transmitted out to the boy. He knew that some of it would get through, especially the physical pain from his burns, but he refused to overwhelm the kid.</p>
<p>The contact reminded him of when he had managed to make mental contact with his Guardian bonded Guide, his Uncle Stephen, for the first time after coming Online as a Sentinel during his own childhood. Peter had been an Online Sentinel since his first successful Shift, as was common for most born Weres who also carried Sentinel or Guide potential. There was something about Pack instincts at that moment, as a young Were felt the full power of the familial bonds for the first time, which triggered the Pride imperative.</p>
<p>The kid’s response to Peter’s nudge felt a bit like a bottle of soda after it had been shaken, fizzy with unbridled excitement.</p>
<p>“You heard me!” He shrieked, excited.</p>
<p>The noise was loud enough to draw the attention of the nurse outside in the hallway, doing her rounds. Peter could hear her shoes at the door, and then a sharp inhale. Clearly, she had seen his visitor through the glass window in the room’s door.</p>
<p>She swung the door open.</p>
<p>“What are you doing in here, young man?” She demanded. From the sound of her voice, this wasn’t the same nurse as earlier.</p>
<p>“Oh… Um…” the boy squeaked, dropping the mental link and Peter’s hand at the same time.</p>
<p>Peter pushed down the sense of loss that he felt at that moment, focusing instead on what was happening around him.</p>
<p>The boy scuffed his foot, his sneaker loud against the linoleum. “I thought…”</p>
<p>“There you are,” it seemed that the boy’s original hunter, Nurse McCall, had heard her colleague and drawn the correct conclusion. From the sound of it, she was hovering right behind the other woman. “Your mother is ready to be checked out, Mischief. She and your father are both waiting for you downstairs.”</p>
<p>“Oops,” the boy cried. “I’d better get down there then. Bye, mister Sentinel,” he added, leaning over the bed enough for Peter to see. Then he darted past the pair of nurses and out into the hallway. Peter’s ears followed the sounds of his passage – his heartbeat and footsteps – until he was out of range.</p>
<p>Peter’s nurse huffed. Stepping over to the bedside, she glanced over his body with a clinical eye.</p>
<p>“Well, it looks like he didn’t manage to do any damage at least. You just never know with children.”</p>
<p>“He knows better than that,” her companion replied. Despite her earlier words, it seemed that Nurse McCall was indeed fond of the boy.</p>
<p>“If you say so, Melissa. Boys his age usually aren’t so well behaved in my experience.”</p>
<p>“Perhaps not, but young Stilinski is a Guide. That does make a difference.”</p>
<p>“I suppose.”</p>
<p>After a final adjustment of the bedding, the nurses left, closing the door behind them.</p>
<p><em>Well, that was exciting, </em>Peter thought, a touch hysterically. A little bit of activity was a nice break from his normal routine.</p>
  </div></div>
</body>
</html>